


Irreconcilable

by LananiA3O



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alfred takes Bruce to task for taking Jason back to Ethiopia, Bruce is not a good dad in this, Gen, Prompt Fill, continuity: New 52, sequel to 'Ungrateful', seriously if you want Good Batdad™ read something else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 00:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O
Summary: When Alfred finds out that Bruce took Jason back to Ethiopia in a deliberate attempt to trigger memories of his death, Alfred finds himself with the toughest question he has ever faced: is the man he vowed to serve still a man, or has he become a monster? And more importantly: can he reconcile his service to the Wayne family children with his service to Bruce?





	Irreconcilable

**Author's Note:**

> Quite a while ago I received an [adorable little promp](http://lananiscorner.tumblr.com/post/182359758638/the-next-time-you-write-something-that-includes) about making Bruce suffer for some of the shit he's done to his children (especially Jason) in the comics. I thought long and hard about what could be the worst fate I could think of for Bruce that does not require killing any of the batkids and here we are. Hope you guys... "enjoy"?
> 
> Oh, also a few words continuity wise:  
> \- The "deliberately re-traumatizing" event this fic refers to is from Batman and Robin Vol 2 20. Read at your own risk. Bruce is such a jerk.  
> \- This story takes place before Rebirth, hence no Cass, Steph, Harper or Duke.  
> \- This story is a sequel to another prompt fic of mine, "Ungrateful".

Alfred knew that something was very seriously wrong the moment the grandfather clock moved aside to reveal the hidden stair case down to the Batcave. Following Master Timothy’s announcement that Master Jason was not going to join them for Halloween celebrations after all and the consequent request for a take-away pumpkin pie, Alfred had steeled himself for some sort of fall-out, some sort of dispute between Master Bruce and one of his children. Master Damian had seemed to be the most likely candidate, since he had gotten into a fight with Master Jason very recently and, despite how much his overall demeanor had improved over his time in the manor, he remained the most volatile of Master Bruce’s children, save perhaps for Master Jason.

Yes, Alfred had been prepared to find Master Damian arguing with Master Bruce, but it was not his voice that carried up the stair case, loud even against the backdrop of a million bats screeching.

It was Master Dick’s.

He was shouting. He was angry. He was using language that certainly no-one in the manor would ever have taught him. He was, in essence, very much not behaving at all like his usual self, and that was what truly made the hairs on the back of Alfred’s neck stand up.

He took a deep sigh, straightened his back, and descended into darkness of the cave.

The trek down the stairs was long and made his ageing knees protest ever so slightly, but it was the sharp, biting tone of the shouts that really hurt. There was a subtle scratchiness underneath it all that suggested Master Dick had been shouting for quite some time. The fact that Master Bruce had either refused to react so far or had, at the very least, done so softly enough that no-one outside of their immediate range could hear them, suggested that he had deemed this disagreement troubling, but ultimately not important enough to resolve instantly.

Or maybe he was just waiting for Master Dick to shout himself hoarse and leave in frustration. Alfred would not have put it past him.

When he finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Alfred’s suspicions were confirmed. Master Bruce was indeed sitting in his usual place, in front of the Batcomputer. He had turned his chair around so as to face Master Dick as he spoke, but other than that, his unwillingness to be part of this conversation was written all over his features. His arms were crossed in front of his chest. His face was set into a scowl that could have turned Medusa herself to stone. His chest rose and fell in steady, minutely controlled breaths.

Master Bruce was angry, but he was not letting it show. Master Dick on the other hand...

If there was one aspect in which Master Dick still seemed to be himself, it was that he was arguing not just with his voice, but with his entire body, to the point where Alfred was sure that even a deaf person would have been easily able to understand one-hundred percent of what he was saying. Across all his gestures and pacing and head-shaking, a subtle tremor of pure, distilled anger ran through Master Dick’s body. This was no longer anger. Master Dick was livid.

“How could you, Bruce?!” His voice was, as a matter of fact, starting to get hoarse. “How could you do that to him?! I know this is probably the six-hundredth time I’m asking, but if you think I’m leaving before you give me a proper answer, you are awfully, horribly mistaken!”

“I did it for Damian,” Master Bruce replied tersely. The way his face twisted made it evident that he thought the answer was common sense and definitely proper. “I had to explore every angle. Every chance.”

“NO, YOU DID NOT!” Master Dick accentuated his renewed outburst by shoving a nearby box full of Batarangs unceremoniously off a nearby shelf, like a spiteful cat determined to make its owners life miserable. The little flock of gadgets pattered across the ground with a metallic clink that echoed off the walls and deep into the cave. “You did _not_ have to do that to Jason! You don’t set other people on fire just to keep someone warm! You know that! You taught me that! So why?”

“It was necessary.” Again, the same tone.

Alfred sighed. This conversation was not going to go anywhere. He had to intervene. He scanned the room for the nearest empty surface quickly, walked over to the table with steps soft as the cat that Master Damian had named after him, and set the food platter down with a sharp, pointed thud. As predicted, both Master Dick and Master Bruce looked at him instantly.

“Alfred!” The plea was both in Master Dick’s voice and written all over his face. The only way he could have been begging more abjectly was if he had thrown himself at Alfred’s feet. In which case Alfred would probably have called for psychiatric intervention. “Please, you have to help me! I’m going insane here.”

“You don’t say...” Alfred walked over slowly and guided Master Dick into the nearest chair with two gentle hands on his shoulders. He could shout and flail all night and Master Bruce would remain unmoving. Alfred knew that. Master Dick knew that. It was amazing how intense emotional distress could do away with common sense and reason. “Am I correct in assuming that this concerns Master Jason’s decision not to join us for the festivities?”

Dick swallowed hard. “I wish it was only that, Alfred. It’s so much worse.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed. That was not good. What on Earth—“Master Bruce, where do you think you are going?”

He had only caught the movement out of the corner of his eyes, but Alfred was not surprised. The emotional trauma big enough to convince Master Bruce that fighting it was better than running from it  had yet to be invented. Oh yes, he could fight crooks and crime and cosmic conquerors all day, but God help him if he had actually had to _confront_ his own demons. Weaseling out of anything that even remotely resembled therapy had been a habit of his since he had been eight years old in Crime Alley. Alfred was not surprised.

“To work,” was the short reply he got in return and Alfred shook his head.

“I think not. There are no emergency calls from the Commissioner and no priority cases at the moment. You will sit back down and you will not move until I have a clear picture of what is going on here.”

For a moment, Master Bruce seemed to contemplate it. His gaze ping-ponged between Alfred and Master Dick, before finally settling on the Batmobile behind them. Then he reached for his cowl.

“Master Bruce Thomas Wayne!”

The effect was immediate, even though Alfred hadn’t raised his voice in the slightest. The hand above the cowl paused, flinched, and eventually withdrew. Master Bruce grumbled something under his breath, then sat back down again. He looked very much like an eight-year-old boy who had just been scolded for being caught with his fingers in the cookie jar.

Alfred breathed deeply. “Thank you, Master Bruce. Now...” He turned back to Master Dick and continued as gently as he could. “Master Dick, what exactly is this about?”

Master Dick grimaced, accessed the remote link to the Batcomputer from his gauntlets and pointed at the screens.

The file currently on display was the Birkuta mission file. Alfred had never studied its details, only the basics. A group of mercenaries that Master Bruce had tracked down shortly after Joker’s poison attack on Master Jason, who had accompanied him for this mission. They had returned separately, but that was less of a strange thing than it might have seemed to outsiders. Master Jason was still wary of being around the family. Alfred found it regrettable, but not deal-breaking. He would give Master Jason as much space as he needed.

Now that the file was brought up again, though, Alfred finally took some time to look at it with a sharper eye. Almost immediately, he realized the little inconsistencies that had undoubtedly spiked someone’s interest. Probably Master Timothy’s. This file did not have a country name after the city. There were coordinates to the precise location, but they were not formatted as links, presumably to discourage the reader from looking them up in the map. Overall, the file was surprisingly lacking in detail, with only two notes.

_Bring Jason._

_Follow-up: Amba Mariam._

_Amba Mariam?_ Alfred raised an eyebrow. That sounded familiar. Where had he heard that before?

“If you are wondering what Amba Mariam is,” Master Dick said through clenched teeth as if he had suddenly developed telepathic powers, “it’s a valley in Ethiopia. It used to be called _Magdala Valley_.”

“Oh good Lord...” He had not meant to say it out loud, but who could blame him? Of all the places in the world... Of all the people to take with him on that mission... “Master Bruce, why?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out for almost an hour,” Master Dick growled. “But guess who’s not very forthcoming?”

“I did it for Damian,” Master Bruce said once again. “I had to explore every angle. Every chance.”

The fact that they were the same words he had used before was not lost on Alfred. Master Bruce was reading from a script. A convenient little script that he had prepared in his mind, no doubt to shield him from actually having to confront the consequences and implications of his actions. It was infuriating, unhealthy, and very like Master Bruce.

“I understand that you were grieving for the boy,” Alfred finally said, after he had managed to push the initial spike of anger that had surged inside of him back down into nothingness. “I understand you were desperate. We all were. But, Master Bruce, Master Jason is your son as well and so I have to concur with Master Dick: you do not set one son on fire just so you can safe the other.”

“It was necess—“

“STOP SAYING THAT!” Whatever patience Master Dick had managed to hold on to for Alfred’s sake had evaporated into thin air. “IT WAS NOT, BRUCE! We got Damian back WITHOUT sacrificing Jason! You took him back there, to the worst place in the world in his eyes, for NOTHING! Why, Bruce? How in the world did that seem like a good idea?”

“Because of maddening grief,” Alfred replied curtly and he could tell from the surprised look on Master Bruce’s face that he had not expected Alfred to take his side in this. “Grief can make people say and do truly terrible things. That is not an excuse, but it is an explanation.”

“It’s not good enough!” Master Dick crossed his own arms and somehow that only seemed to intensify the furious shaking of his body. “That’s not nearly good enough.”

Alfred sighed. “What is done is done. None of us can turn back time do undo that terrible decision. You’re right to be angry, Master Dick, but your anger is misplaced. You are not asking the right question.”

Now, he turned back to Master Bruce and the short flinch that gripped him for a split second was enough to let Alfred know that Master Bruce knew he was not getting off the hook this easily.

“What you did was wrong, Master Bruce. I trust that you understand that.” He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible. Had that not always been his job in this family? To be the life-saving, steady rock in a stormy sea? “More importantly, though: what are you planning to do to make amends? Have you apologized to Master Jason yet?”

For a second, Master Bruce seemed truly speechless, at a loss for both words and thoughts. The confusion was easy to see in how his eyes widened just a little and his shoulders hunched up. Then, he put his face back into its trademarked scowl and continued as if nothing had happened.

“Everything that needed to be said, I already said to him in Ethiopia.”

To Alfred’s left, Master Dick’s jaw dropped. The ‘what’ that came out of his mouth was so sharp and loud it sent both the bats hanging from the ceiling and Alfred the cat, who had apparently decided to come see what all the ruckus was about, fleeing from the room.

“You can’t be serious!” And just like that, Master Dick was out of his chair again, waving his hands in anger. “Do you honestly think Jason would still be upset to the point of assaulting Damian over a careless remark, a fight which, may I remind you, ended with Tim getting knifed in the ribs? Do you really think it was enough?”

“I think Jason _still_ doesn’t understand that Damian deserves to live and to be traumatized about _having died and then come back to life_ and that I can’t trust him to be around any of you, here in the manor, without supervision.”

Master Dick froze. His face was a mask of abject horror. Alfred could hardly blame him. Master Bruce had not only missed the point—he had ended up in another dimension in his efforts to avoid it. What he wanted to say was decidedly uncouth and inappropriate. What he did end up saying was:

“I will not repeat myself, Master Bruce: have you apologized to Master Jason yet?”

“No.”

“Do you plan to apologize to him?”

“That mission was not about him,” Master Bruce replied sternly. “It was for Damian and it was necessary. I explained as much to Jason. He had a chance to help, just for once, to actually do the right thing, to help his brother and he flat-out refused to take it. Judging from his recent actions, he _still_ doesn’t understand why Damian took priority in this case. I am not the one who owes anyone an apology.”

“Priority?” Master Dick’s voice verged on hysterical. “Prior—Bruce, Damian was dead! Okay? DEAD! He was not going anywhere. In the question of ‘living son’ vs. ‘dead son’, how was ‘dead son’ the priority? What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?!”

Under normal circumstances, Alfred would have been appalled at the use of such language, but there was no room for that now. His heart was already filled with too much grief and anger.

“Am I correct in my understanding then, Master Bruce, that you have not apologized for taking Master Jason back to the place where he died, that you do not intent to apologize to him, and that you do not believe you made the wrong call in that situation, not even now, in hindsight?”

“Yes.”

Alfred closed his eyes and shut out the angry shouts that came from Master Dick. It hurt. He could not remember ever having been in this much agony. He could not remember ever having felt like so much of a failure. Where had he gone wrong? Clearly he had neglected to teach Master Bruce helpful emotional coping techniques, but where had he gone _so_ wrong that this was where they had ended up?

It was, in the end, a pointless question. This time, there was no explanation. There was no grief. There was not unfortunate circumstance that could have explained why Master Bruce was not being himself. This... this _was_ Master Bruce being himself.

“Please excuse me for a minute.”

He did not wait for the reply. Alfred turned on his heels and ascended the stair case once more. He had feared that this day might come eventually, but had always dismissed that fear as silly and outlandish. Now, he felt like the greatest fool in history.

He went to the study that Thomas Wayne had always used and Alfred stared at his portrait with an aching heart. _Forgive me, Master Wayne, for what I am about to do. I wish I did not have to._

He started with the phone, placing a short call for a taxi to pick him up in twenty minutes. Then he turned on the computer, typed out the letter, printed and signed it, and scanned it to mail it back to his own email address for documentation. He doubted Master Bruce would be so petty, but then again, the man he had just talked to was no longer the man Alfred had known.

Next, Alfred returned to his room and packed his suitcase. He left the suits neatly pressed in the closet, conveniently leaving him with very few clothes to pack. Instead, he took his remaining time to gather the little mementos that had accumulated over the years. The first edition books that Master Jason had gifted to him during his time as Robin. The family picture collections he had assembled together with Master Dick. The watch Master Timothy had gotten him for his sixtieth birthday. The carefully chosen assortment of elegant pins and brooches that Master Damian was expanding each time he returned from travelling abroad.

And last but not least, his favorite picture of him and Master Bruce when he had just been a child, smiling into the camera while helping Alfred tend his rose garden. A keepsake of better times.

By the time he had returned to the cave, his twenty minutes were almost up. Master Dick seemed to have run out of energy to talk, but not to pace. The desperation was written all over him. Meanwhile, Master Bruce was still sitting like a rock.

Alfred walked over to him, every step a new lesson in agony, and handed him the folded letter without a word. Only when Master Bruce had accepted it, did he permit himself a sigh of relief. However much he had hated doing this, it was done now. It would never feel right. It would never not be a painful memory. But sometimes, a miserable end was better than endless misery.

“What is this, Alfred?”

“My resignation.”

Both Master Dick and Master Bruce, no, Bruce Wayne, gaped at him in open shock. It was rare for anyone who truly knew Bruce to see him so emotive, but then again, this was a very special occasion.

“Your what?”

“My resignation.” Suddenly, the suitcase felt so much lighter in his hand. “I promised your parents that I would look after you. I promised you that I would serve you and your family, for as long as I could, but it has become clear that I cannot serve you _and_ your children at the same time without seriously and irrevocably damaging my own conscience and sanity. I could, and have for a very long time, forgiven you for your lack of healthy coping mechanisms for emotional trauma. I have even overlooked your more grievous lapses in judgments in light of the circumstances that led to them, but I cannot, in good faith and conscience, serve a man who is openly, knowingly, and willfully abusive of any of the children I vowed to serve as well, and yes, Master Jason is a child as far as I’m concerned. He died when he was fifteen and he is barely old enough to legally drink now. Your behavior towards him is appalling and a disgrace to the Wayne name and ignoring it is irreconcilable with my duty to your family. This resignation is effective immediately. Goodbye, Bruce.”

Once again, Alfred refused to wait for a reply and ascended the stair case in steady steps. Every increasingly frantic shout from below was a knife in his heart and yet he knew he had made the right choice. He was not going to waste his care and dedication on a man who had become a monster. Not when there were other members of the family who had not yet abandoned all human kindness, who needed him more.

He had almost finished putting on his shoes, coat and hat, when the grandfather door slipped aside to reveal both Bruce and Master Dick running after him, now dressed in civilian clothing, but with their hairs sticking up in odd angles that proved they had hurried to catch up with him.

“Alfred...” Bruce sounded beyond concerned. Disbelieving, shocked, almost desperate. “You cannot be serious about this!”

“I wish I was not,” Alfred replied truthfully, “but I have never been more serious about anything in my life.”

“You can’t do this.”

 _And why not_ , Alfred wanted to say. _Why not, Bruce? Because you say so? Because you have become so used to me excusing or ignoring your behavior, even at its worst, that you cannot believe anyone dare defy you now? Or is it because you know that you are wrong and you can finally no longer ignore the errors of your ways?_

What he did end up saying was: “You will find that I can. This is a country where employment is at-will.”

Whatever Bruce had planned to say in return was cut short by the sound of the door bell. Alfred almost wanted to smile. Saved by the bell. Literally.

“That would be the cab I ordered. Good night, sir.”

“Alfred, wait!” This time, it was Master Grayson who pleaded with him and Alfred did stop with his hand on the door knob, watching in mild amusement as Master Grayson slipped into his own shoes and coat. “I’m coming with you.”

“Dick—“

“No, Bruce!” Where before Master Dick’s voice had been smoldering with fiery rage, it was now cool as ice. “You brought this on yourself. And I am done trying to compromise with you. Reasons are for reasonable people, after all.”

The door opened with a loud creak. Alfred handed his suitcase to the waiting cab driver and followed him out into the rain. Of course it was raining. It was Gotham after all. Strangely enough, it did not feel bad at all. For once, the rain felt good, cleansing, soothing. Next to him, Master Grayson even managed a tiny smile, and although Alfred did feel all the good memories tugging at his heart strings as he gave the manor one last glance from the safety of the taxi, he knew he had made the right choice. The building loomed like a massive, cold shadow and even Bruce Wayne, the Batman, looked painfully small against the emptiness of the entrance hall behind him.

“I know how you feel,” Master Grayson said to him as he slipped into the seat next to Alfred, behind the driver. “It hurts leaving him like this, but I think we made the right choice.”

“I know I did,” Alfred replied with a short nod, before instructing the taxi driver to take him to the Clock Tower. Master Dick looked at him inconfusion.

“Wait, do you even have a place to stay? You know you can’t just book a room somewhere and not expect him to find you.”

“That is precisely why I’m visiting Miss Gordon at this hour,” Alfred explained. He would have to get a house of his own now, small enough to upkeep easily, but big enough to have all of the young Masters and Misses over on short notice if necessary. In his mind, he already ran through possible locations and the grocery list for the pantry. He would have to ask Miss Gordon to provide him with a new identity, one Bruce Wayne did not know of, and all the necessary paperwork and finances. “If anyone can outfox him, it will be her. Of course, my door will always be open to you and Masters Jason, Timothy and Damian, as well as Miss Barbara.”

He also thought of Bruce, now alone with an empty house that he would not know how to take care of. He thought of Batman, now without his... well, batman. He thought of the man who thought his son was selfish for not wanting to retraumatize himself, who would no longer have anyone to absorb the emotional damage his actions were inflicting. He thought of Master Jason and the many, many nights and weeks and months and years _he_ had already spent, alone, in an empty house, without support, absorbing emotional damage he should never have had to carry all on his own.

Alfred’s service to Bruce Wayne his ended. His service to the Wayne family had not. It was up to Bruce to decide when he wanted to act like a Wayne again. Until then, he would have to fend for himself, while Alfred took care of the people who truly needed him.

“Sometimes people have to hit rock bottom, before they are able to see the light.”


End file.
